It’s here somewhere

Bob and I have an ongoing joke between us: when he can’t find something, it’s my fault.  You know, I’ve put it somewhere, his shoes, his biking shorts, whatever.  I love it when he finds something that would not even have my fingerprints on it if checked. 

He likes to leave things laying around in certain places, and I like to scoop them up and put them somewhere when cleaning house (which is rare).  He is meticulous, shoes always side by side with the shoestrings tucked neatly inside.  I’m doing well to find my shoes.  He says I have “places for everything and everything in its places”.

And we’re still married after all these years.

Another alternative lifestyle…

Do you ever wonder at the Christian tradition of being married at an altar?  Here is the bridegroom all decked out in formal finery gazing wistfully upon his beautiful bride in her white satin and lace while everyone is trying to see around the photographer and Aunt Judith is loudly blowing her nose.  Happily ever after is just waiting to enfold the sweet couple at the end of the aisle.

I mean, historically an altar was a blood-stained place of sacrifice… 

Okay, on second thought, anyone married for more than one year (how about one week?) gets the connection.

Let’s have a fight!

Like many people, I’m not intrinsically adept at confrontation.  That’s a nice way of saying that I tend to avoid it like the Black Plague, whereas my dear husband of 30-plus years (emphasis on the “plus”) has no problem with it.  I have always struggled being overly concerned with what people think of me.  Bob…well, let’s just say, not so much.  So, one can easily imagine how, once the honeymoon period wears off (five days???) and real life kicks in, communication patterns with regard to expectations can be…challenging. 

During one of our relatively few “disagreements”, I was doing my typical backing down routine, when my counterpart surprisingly said, “Now wait a minute!  Don’t you give up so easily!  Just because I’m louder doesn’t mean I’m right.”

He’s so good for me.

Learning to argue is a definite skill set for any relationship.  Setting boundaries, no name-calling, dealing with my own ego and emo, learning healthy compromise, being motivated by love rather than the innate desire to “be right”…the human psyche isn’t born with these things; they have to be intentional in any relationship.

Except one.

What’s in YOUR toolbox?

My dad had a shop in the basement, a couple of rooms of the basement in fact. It was pretty awe-inspiring.  His big engineer’s drafting table, from which hung the triangle and T-square, dominated one room, the one in which he built in all the new cabinets himself.  I think that was before he designed and built the beautiful screened-in back porch. 

The actual shop was in an adjacent room.  This housed a myriad of baby food jars filled with screws and washers and all types and sizes of things.  His lathe was in there, and the circle saw, and undoubtedly a host of other things I would have no idea how to use.  (What’s a router??)

Heart to heart

And he STILL takes me on dates: roses and camo. What more could a girl want??

Have you ever gotten a gift you didn’t need, or better yet, didn’t really want?  You smile nicely, (‘cuz that’s what your mom taught you to do), and find something, anything, nice to say about it, (“oh, my, these earrings will match perfectly with the stain I can’t get out of my favorite shirt when my granddaughter…”). 

I admit, I have a stash—a small one, so be kind to me—of items to use as “re-gifts”, you know, as things to give away at a party or what not.  ‘Fess up, ladies, you have it too.  At least, if you’re on a limited budget and/or are a frugal recycler who has cast off the collar and leash of guilt a long time ago when it comes to gifts, (“but that was from dear Aunt Betsy!”)  Well, dear Aunt Betsy may have a larger piece of property to hoard such things.  Me?  I’m still storing stuff for my 30-somethings who are now strewn around the globe.   

As wonderful as it is when people give of themselves sacrificially to another, what really makes it meaningful is when they take to time to find out what the person on the receiving end really wants or needs.  That’s when the giving actually becomes about the one who is on the receiving end, not about the one who is doing the giving.

You can’t take it with you.

Well, the old frig finally gave up the ghost.  It was, after all, 25 years old, which might make some of my contemporary homemakers gasp with awe.  Bob really came through yet again—

I had noticed the night before that things were a little squishy in the freezer, cold, but not hard like normal.   Checking the temp, it looked like it had been accidentally turned down, just a little, and besides, sometimes the door doesn’t shut all the way unless I push on it, so okay.  Done.  Went to bed.

Next morning, almost time to head out the door, I go to make our daily smoothies to take to our offices and notice that things are not just squishy, but thawing out!  Uh-oh. Thankfully, at this writing, my husband’s work schedule is more flexible than mine, and he was able to take measurements and make all the necessary decisions and contacts (including the contractor who had to come out and pull down some cabinets in my very small kitchen so the new appliance would fit!)

I came home to a new refrigerator, not exactly what I wanted, but totally what we needed!  My frozen food is much

With Love to Sammy, 63 Years

My good blogger buddy, Oneta Hayes at Sweet Aroma, provides me with a perspective I appreciate on several fronts.  Here is just one of them, albeit a BIG one.  The idea of covenant in marriage is not one that is fairly understood, much less practiced, in our so-called modern society.  The idea of sticking with someone through thick and thin (of which I believe they’ve had both) may seem a bit old-fashioned, however…

Here is Oneta’s tribute to such an “old-fashioned” idea.  Hat’s off to you, my friend!!  And God bless you both!

WITH LOVE TO SAMMY, 63 YEARS

Home, fortunate to be my pleasant place;

my hubby and I talk face to face.

Home, all my belongings there I stash;

got a lot of stuff, just not cash.

 

Home, cars can park on my one acre lawn;

afternoon naps when I yawn.

Home, food and drink and company too,

if you were near, we’d invite you.

 

Home, a place to have the family meet,

games and songs and plenty to eat.

Home, sixty-three years since we were wed,

tied the knot with unbreakable thread.

“This Old House”, (which happens to be mine)

I guess some people still think that co-habitation is a smart thing before marriage, you know, to make sure they’re compatible and other such nonsense.  I have a better idea: during some of the home improvements when we first moved into our current abode, I decided then and there that it should be federal mandate for couples to work together renovating an old house prior to being issued a marriage license. 

I daresay fewer couples would continue to “co-habit”.

My husband is meticulous.  I, on the other hand, am not quite so patient.  He’s sees one job; I see ten.  He can focus for hours; I am, well, not usually quite that skilled.  Nor careful I might add.  Blogger brother Wally Fry posted a meme that pretty much hits the mark HERE. (I don’t know where he and his wife, Heather, find these things, but they’re so dag-gum true!)

However, despite my sometimes counterproductive hyperactivity, God’s plan

“Will you please just listen…?!?”

I’m an old-fashioned XX and my husband is an old-fashioned XY, which is genetic code for female and male (exclusively).  After more than 35 years of matrimony, it is obvious that, as our chromosomes are not changing, neither are our styles of communication. That doesn’t mean we can’t learn NEW methods of getting our needs/desires/ideas across to each other, however.  Old dogs can still learn new tricks.  One of mine is that, since Bob reads my blog, I know he’ll see this one….and laugh out loud.  Well, I might laugh out loud; Bob will probably smile, maybe giggle.  You know, certain things just hit us differently, since we are different….v-e-r-y different.

Come to think of it, I could even use this moment to remind him that our anniversary is NEXT WEEK.

For years earlier on in our wedded bliss, I wanted him to send me flowers.  I think to him it just seemed like an impractical gift, especially given our precarious financial lifestyle at the time.  So one day, imagine my reaction when he brought to me a real live red rose!  I mean, a real LIVE rose, not cut…no, something I would need to take care of–on top of three small children in a tight married-student campus apartment, and a part time job as a nurse (night shift or weekends).  And what did I know about taking care of roses??!?

As always, it’s the thought that counts.

I’m at a better place now, communicatively speaking I mean.  How can I expect the poor man to have any idea what his companion is thinking without telling him?  The Y in his X doesn’t exactly give him telepathic powers (thankfully).  And, yes, he tends to have that typical “let’s fix it” mentality (again, quite practical) when I have a teary-eyed frustration or concern.

On that note, I received this from blogger Rusty Foerger at More Enigma Than Dogma.

(BWaH-hahahahaha!!!)  Message received LOUD AND CLEAR.  

Now, honestly, how many of us do this to God?  Right, here’s how I’m feeling, just listen (which God is really quite good at), but then when He gives us the solution, we choose to keep the nail in place instead.  DUH!

He does have specific strategies for our specific areas of concern.  He is not capricious, and He is not ambiguous.  And everything He does is out of love (even removing the nail, as painful as it may be at the time!)

  “He renews my strength.
He guides me along right paths,
    bringing honor to his name.”

And, oh yeah, Happy Anniversary, Honey!  That is, almost.  Y’know, next Thursday.  Six days from now.  August 18th, 1979.  Flowers optional.  (Pssst…make sure you read the tags.)

Psalm 23:3  Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.